


Rites Of Passage

by Miss_Rust



Series: Rites of Passage [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Chieftain Jon, Chieftain Tormund, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Bliss, Explicit Consent, Fluff, Free Folk culture, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I took this prompt and ran, M/M, My First Smut, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Prompt Fill, Size Kink, Smut, So Married, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Traditions, but im trying, i dont know how to tag smut, post-s8, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22054660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Rust/pseuds/Miss_Rust
Summary: Rites of passage;Changing an individual's social status, such as marriage, adoption, baptism, coming of age, graduation, or inauguration.Prompt! Jon and Tor discussing some wildling customs and traditions? With a lot of warm cuddling and some drinking? Generally, slow and mellow.
Relationships: Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow
Series: Rites of Passage [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1724041
Comments: 26
Kudos: 215





	Rites Of Passage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Louhetar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louhetar/gifts).



> This was originally a prompt by my lovely @Szamanita, but it evolved way past the fluff. I hold no shame whatsoever. However, this is my first smut so please be kind! (Also not beta'd lmao)
> 
> Prompt! Jon and Tor discussing some wildling customs and traditions? With a lot of warm cuddling and some drinking? Generally, slow and mellow.
> 
> Started it, had a breakdown, bon appetit!

It was a slow, relaxed night, the air outside Tormund and Jon’s cabin was freezing with cold. One of the first winter storms would arrive this night, and the clan had been preparing for it the past week.

Every clan member, every family, was provided with enough food and furs to get them through at least a few days without having to leave their homes to go to the main food stock. 

Jon and Tormund were holed up inside of the wooden cabin, holes stuffed with straw and clay to keep the wind out. They were assigned the biggest Cabin, as Tormund was the chieftain of the Antler River Dwelling, and by extension, so was Jon. They had gotten married not even a moon ago, their wedding festivities turning into frantic preparations as their shaman had predicted the first winter storm to hit soon. Said storm was now starting to show.

Their cabin was square, one giant fireplace on the backside, furs piled in front of it, and while they did have a bed in one of the corners, this was where they spent most of the nights, curled up in front of the fire.

Right now, a fire was burning, the air heavy with the smell of burned wood, notes of cedarwood and musk. It was very cosy.

Jon sat in front of the hearth, wrapped in furs, with Ghost’s giant head on his lap.  
He was stroking from between his ears to his nose, listening to his dire wolf rumble contently. The white fur rippled with Ghost’s content grumblings, and Jon supposed that if he were a cat, he’d purr.

Ghost had grown rather large, probably the size of a large lion. He had seen one once when they were down in Kings Landing. Cersei had kept wild animals in the Dragonpit, caged as they once had caged dragons. Ghost was about the same size, if not even bigger. And of course, not a lion, but a wolf. 

He went to scratch behind his ears, glad he didn’t have to be careful anymore to avoid the wound where wights had bitten off parts of his wolfs ear. It had healed well.  
That didn’t stop Jon from feeling guilty, though, when he looked at him. He should have never let Ghost run with the army, what with him having neither Valyrian steel nor obsidian teeth. Jon was glad he had survived. What he would have done without him, he didn’t know.

Jon laid down, suddenly emotional, and pulled Ghost’s head to lie on his chest, hugging him close.

The storm started up a bit more loudly, the pitter-patter of snow and hail on the roof, making Jon feel glad he was safe and warm inside of their hut. 

He started humming a little song he knew from his childhood, carding his hands through Ghost’s fur gently.

“What you’ humming there, little wolf?”

Jon turned his head towards Tormund, who was sat on a stool, peeling away at some potatoes for their dinner. He had refused Jon’s help, as “I wanna do something for my husband for once, you’ve been working yourself raw helping for the storm”, ignoring Jon’s protests that Tormund had worked no less than him.

“It’s nothing, just a tiny song from when I was young, I don’t know a lot of songs,” Jon replied, interrupting his humming to drop a kiss on Ghost’s cold nose.

He laughed when his dire wolf opened his eyes with a look that could only be characterised as offended. How dare Jon disturb his relaxation?  
Soothing, he stroked across Ghost’s head, willing him to settle. Absentmindedly, he started playing with Ghost’s ears, flattening them, tickling them. 

“That’s a pity, you know. The free folk tell their stories through singing, it’s a big part of our culture,” Tormund explained.

The fire crackled.

“Teach me some?” Jon asked, “I want to know more.”

His husband laughed, a gentle sound against the howling storm outside, that had picked up by quite a lot.

“Actually, we sing mostly when there are feasts, to teach the youngins’ the world. I think you have Maester’s that do that for you, eh?”

“Yes, but only the highborn children. Usually, bastards don’t receive an education, but my father was so keen on it, so I learned with Robb and Theon. Maester Luwin-“

Jon’s voice cracked, remembering the kind gentle soul of his old teacher, who had helped raise him. Another soul lost to the cruelty of war.  
Shaking his head free from thought, he continued.

“Maester Luwin was the best teacher I could have. He taught me reading and writing, numbers, and how to hold a keep, how to take care of the people best, and about Westeros. I suppose it was mainly what Robb was supposed to learn, not me, but I paid attention.”

“Ah, so this is why you helped so much for the storm” Tormund smiled at him. “I guess I must thank this master Luwin for educating you. Although I do not think you will need your reading and writing skills much beyond the wall. Our children learn through stories, about how the world works, what is good, and what isn’t. A lot of that is packed in Songs.”

Jon smiled, looking up from where he had leant his head against Ghost’s to watch his husband.

“I suppose that is a good way to go at it.” He hesitated, then decided to voice his thoughts anyways.  
“Sing me a song?” he requested, looking up at Tormund, who chuckled at his request.

“What do you wanna be taught then?”

“I don’t know, you probably know best what I don’t know yet about the north.”

Tormund huffed.

Jon sat up a bit, but only so far that he could with Ghost’s massive head on his chest. He propped himself on his elbow and looked at his husband, expectantly.

And Tormund sang. Quietly, softly, and deeply. It was a song about Joramun, the legendary King-Beyond-the-Wall who blew the Horn of Winter and woke the giants from the earth.

That was about all he understood from what little he could speak of the Old Tongue. The words seemed, broader and rolling, almost.

Tormund finished, dragging out the last note. For a while, there was only breathing.  
“That sounded different to the Old Tongue” Jon whispered, loath to stop the comfortable silence between them.

“Aye,” Tormund replied quietly.

“That was the dialect we spoke at the Antler River before we had to leave.”

“Will you teach me?”

“If you want.”

The room fell back to silence. Well, not complete silence. Ghost was now snoring on his chest, wholly lulled in from the cuddles. He almost looks like a puppy again. Jon hummed absentmindedly, trying to pull the melody into memory. 

“What else can you teach me?” he voiced his thoughts out loud. 

“What do you mean?” Tormund asks, now puttering about filling the pot with potatoes and carrots and a good shovel of snow, spices, and meat.

Jon watches as he carries it over to the fireplace, carefully avoiding stepping on him and Ghost cuddled up in front of it.

Finally, he’s done, and sits down behind Jon, slotting in behind his back and into the furs where his husband lies.  
Content, Jon leans back against Tormund’s broad chest.

“I wanna know more about our culture, like what traditions you have that are different from those I grew up with.”

Tormund hums, clearly thinking. Jon relaxes. He is happy like this, both of his favourites curled up around him and keeping him warm.

Tormund starts playing with his hair, much like he did with Ghost earlier. He runs his hands gently through his locks, that have grown quite a bit since Jon’s left the wall.

“I- “he stops, and Jon looks up quizzically at his husband, encouraging him to continue.  
“I suppose that I might as well tell you about braiding.”

“Braiding? I know what braiding is, you big oaf” Jon giggles into Ghosts fur.

“I know, but- “Tormund sighs, pulling Jon a bit closer.

“But what”?

“Braids have meanings here. So, there is a braid for each clan, that shows which you belong to, but not every clan does it.”

“Thenn’s” Jon whispers.

“Right, Thenns,” Tormund acknowledges.

“But there are also braids marking you as off age, or as married so that men don’t carry off already taken or too young brides,” he continues.

Surprised, Jon turns around.

“Marriage braids? Why don’t I have one?”

“Because with what the storm happening, and the preparations, I forgot” Tormund’s belly laugh never fails to make him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

“Ah”

Back to a comfortable silence. Ghost grunt’s deep in his sleep. The fire crackles, the storm howls outside. The scent of their stew joins the musky, smoky smell. Jon feels hazy with it, the heavy smell and warmth lulling him in.

“Braid me? I want to be yours” Jon murmurs softly, nudging his head deeper into Tormund’s hands, who hasn’t stopped stroking through his hair.

“You are mine already, little wolf” Tormund whispers back just as softly, but starts moving his hands with more purpose, nevertheless.

When he’s finished, Jon turns around to him, excitedly.

“How’s it look?” he asks, disregarding how much he is jostling Ghost’s head. The direwolf wakes up and disgruntledly moves his head, lying down close next to Jon.

Jon uses the opportunity to turn around entirely, entangling his legs with Tormund’s, now even closer under the warm furs.

“It looks like you’re mine” Tormund grins, and captures his lips softly, grasping the sides of his head gently between his large hands.  
Jon sighs into the kiss, bracing against his husband’s chest. They part, and Jon nuzzles their noses together, carefully nudging up against Tormund’s.

He peeks up through his lashes and tries to put all his power into what Tormund calls his puppy eyes, practically begging to be kissed, tilting his chin closer.

Tormund complies, savouring their kiss, and deepening it, before breaking apart again and leaning his forehead against Jon’s, closing his eyes.  
Jon can’t help but whine at the loss. Tormund chuckles.

“I love you, Jon.”

“Don’t know what I would ever do without you” Jon whispers back.

They shift, so Jon lies on Tormund’s chest, Tormund’s legs standing slightly to bracket his. Jon listens to his husband’s heartbeat.

He feels safe, for the first time in a long while. Home. This is home. Not the cabin, not the Antler River where they are staying, but Tormund. 

Tormund is his home. He takes a moment to thank the gods for what they have given to them, before sitting up, straddling his husband.

“You’re mine too, you know.”

Tormund blinks up at him, grinning.

“Aye”

“Show me how to braid yours?”

“Okay”

Tormund sits up, Jon still securely in his lap, now towering a bit over him due to his elevated position. Tormund guides him through the process, and in the end, there is marriage braid next to what Tormund explains is the clan braid, and the chieftain braid.

“You’re decorated” Jon notes.

“So are you, little crow.”

“You keep calling me that” Jon notes absentmindedly.

“What?” 

“Little Crow” 

“Ah” Tormund assents, “that would be another tradition of the free folk.”

“You must have noticed we don’t have family names really, like the lot south of the wall do.”

“Aye, you’re called Tormund Giantsbane, Tall-talker, Horn-blower and Breaker of Ice, Husband to Bears, the Mead-king of Ruddy Hall, Speaker to Gods and Father of Hosts,” 

Jon announces, repeating some of the titles he remembers his husband bear. Tormund laughs.

“Speaker to Gods” he mutters, and “By the gods, we were all so drunk then.”

Tormund focusses back on him and shifts so that Jon is forced to move even closer, now straddling his husband.

“Right. So, because we don’t have family names, or place any value on succession and heirs and all that horseshit, we have earned names instead.”

Jon nods along, listening intently. 

“Earned names,” he continues, “are names that are given to you to whatever notable thing you do.”

“Ah, so you are called Giantsbane because you killed a giant all by yourself, and Varamyr Sixskins is called that because he is a skin-changer.”

“That’s right” Tormund acknowledges. 

“So, what about little crow? Or little wolf, you’ve taken that one up a few times.”

“Little Crow, because you were a crow, and it’s stuck in my head because you also look like one, dark hair and all” Tormund laughs, “But you haven’t been a crow in a while, not since you’ve lived with us all those years ago.” 

Jon can just nod. His days as a man of the nights' watch were long over, he died for his men, effectively releasing him from his vow, but he didn’t mean to retake it. Not even if it was his little brother giving him that sentence. 

“So, because of that, I like calling you little wolf, because that’s your heritage.”

“And why the little?” Jon asks, already thinking he will know the answer.

Tormund chuckles, and then as if without effort, flips Jon on his back and towers over him, settling between his legs, holding a massive hand on Jon’s chest. 

“Because,” he pauses, and now moves to lie on top of him, completely dwarfing Jon underneath him, bracing on his arms above Jon’s head. Now all he can see is Tormund, his ginger hair spilling down around their heads. 

“Because while you might be averaged size, I absolutely dwarf you, and I really, really like that.” 

Every sassy reply Jon had thought of completely vanishes at that; his brain wiped like the gaping snowfields of the frozen shore.  
He can’t help but whine, tilting his head up, however not reaching far, his lips only grazing his husband’s. Jon is completely caught by Tormund, who just chuckles deeply, teasing him. 

Jon can’t decide if he wants to look at his husband’s lips or into his eyes, can’t help his eyes flickering to his lips, still stretching up against his husband. Tormund’s breath ghosts across his lips, not entirely unaffected either.

Finally, he moves down, and their lips meet. Jon groans. He loves this, Tormund being all around him, so nothing else feels important anymore. Just his husband counts. 

The kiss is sensual, bordering passionate and Jon loves it.  
They break apart, only for Tormund to swoop in one more time, stealing another kiss.  
Jon looks up at him, feeling very fuzzy and warm. 

“You still with me?”

“hmm?” Jon can only hum back, and Tormund laughs.

He starts dropping little feathery kisses across Jon’s face, and he has to squirm because it tickles so much.

Dropping a last peck on his lips, Tormund rises, carefully avoiding trampling on either Ghost or Jon as he goes to check their soup.  
Jon groans at the loss, glancing up at Tormund through his lashes. 

His husband looks glorious, his hair falling down his back, braids on both sides of his head. It has gotten quite long. 

“Do the free folk ever cut their hair?” he muses, “I’ve never seen one with short hair, apart from the Thenns.”

Tormund snickers at that. 

“And that’s another cultural thing you have to learn. The people of the Antler River don’t cut their hair unless they’ve done something bad, so the clan can see their shame. That happens, when there’s a rape, or something the like. So that the clan can see and identify the bad people.” His husband explains while stirring the stew. 

Jon laughs. 

“I won’t have a problem with that,” he replies, thinking back to the countless times at Winterfell where Robb had to literally drag him to get his hair cut. 

He never liked his hair being cut. Maybe it was because it was his, and he didn’t own a lot of things as a bastard at the court of Winterfell. 

“You’ll look all proper soon” Tormund notes, sitting back down on the furs, handing Jon a mug with hot wine, some wildling speciality drink that he had only gotten to know recently. It was quite pleasant, and he liked it a lot better than the fermented goat’s milk. 

“All nice with the braids, and hair and clothes” he continues. “And soon enough, you’ll have a proper name as well.”

“So “little wolf” isn’t a proper free folk name?” Jon replies, having a sip. 

“Nah, that’s my name for you, they shan’t use it.” Tormund looks almost offended. “No, you will earn yours, I imagine. I heard some whispers of them younglings calling you 'Homebringer' or Jon 'Wolfborn' Also heard something like 'Lightbringer' or 'Dawnbreaker'."

“Wolfborn?” Jon is surprised. He had wholly expected something a lot less friendly than that. The events of the Last War were still too fresh in his memory, he gathered. He supposed that the free folk didn’t really care about that though, they hadn’t fought in that battle and did not care for southern politics.

“Aye, Wolfborn, you are the embodiment of a wolf, and it is your house sign as well, isn't it? Nevermind the fact you run around with a freaking direwolf following you everywhere.”

They both laugh at that. 

Ghost seems to be noticing that he is the topic of the conversation, lifting his head in askance, then getting up just to plop down directly across their legs. 

Tormund sobers up, continuing “But you know, I like Jon Sharp-Tongue best.”

“Sharp, Tongue? What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Tormund snickers. “It’s because you are so incredibly sassy, remember last week?” 

“No, what did I do?”

“You were playing games with the older children, some kind of game with two sides. You joined late, and then your side lost, and they accused you of making them look bad, and then you said, “You looked bad before I ever even came here”. Tormund recounted. 

“Ah, yes, I remember.”

“All the adults were laughing, and you should have seen their faces, telling them off. That was a good lesson you learned them, to be responsible for their own problems.” 

“Although I was pretty bad at it”, Jon admitted sheepishly. 

They both fall back into laughter, and soon they are reminiscing that fateful afternoon, falling into easy conversation as the storm rages on.  
Finally, the soup is done, and Tormund lifts Jon to his feet so they can sit down at the table to eat. Ghost perks up and sits down next to the table absolutely dwarfing them when they are sitting down. 

“Oh no, you don’t” Tormund laughs goodnatured as Ghost tries to steal a piece of meat out of the stew.

As Tormund wrestles with Ghost, Jon gets up to find a lamb leg for Ghost to eat. The moment his direwolf sees it, he bounces, and Jon has to dive to not get squished underneath him. 

Laughing, he sits back down as he watches Ghost drag his food into a corner. 

“I did not think he would get this big when I first got him.” He muses, digging into his stew.

“Hmm?” Tormund looks at him, mouth full of food.

“He was this big”, Jon lets go of his spoon and indicates Ghost’s size when he was a pup and nearly starts choking with laughter when his husband looks at him incredulously.

“He what? I’ve never seen a direwolf pup before, that’s hard to believe.” Tormund exclaims; “Ghost is nearly as big as a horse!” 

“Aye” Jon has to laugh, “his mother lay dead already, the pups fought their way free I think, but she was a lot smaller than Ghost. And he was the runt of the litter!”

The conversation dwindles after that, all three of them invested in their food.  
When they’re washing up, Tormund suddenly hums thoughtfully. 

“Maybe after this storm is over, there will be winter lights, been a while since I’ve seen those.”

“What’s that?” 

“Ah, I suppose they’re not down south. You’ll see. The entire sky lights up, and there are so many colours, mostly green, but sometimes there are pinks and purples too.”

“The entire sky?”

“Nah, the sky is black or blue, there's just, streaks? I dunno, it’s hard to explain. But you’ll see them, they’re common enough when the winds get warmer. Winter’s almost gone after all.” Tormund puts the last bowl away, then catches him around the waist and pulls him to stand between his legs, effectively trapping him between his husband and the table. 

“Not planning on leaving anytime soon.”

“Now and forever?” Tormund repeats their wildling wedding vow.

“Now and forever,” Jon replies, looking up at him, and then has to yelp because Tormund has wrapped his arms around his upper thighs and seated him up on the table.

“Tormund-“

Tormund shushes him with a kiss, wrapping his arms around Jon’s back, and drawing him close. Jon can just react by wrapping his arms around Tormunds neck, grabbing at his shirt. 

God. He’s been a bit horny the entire evening, heat simmering slow in his belly but right now? With his husband pressing close to him, their crotches flush together, Jon can’t help but whimper.  
His husband's arm’s drop-down and now bracket his thighs, carefully taking hold of his bum and pulling him even closer. 

“Tormu-“

“Shhh, I’ve got you.” 

Tormund kisses him with an intensity that makes him cling to his husband's chest as if it’s the only solid thing in this world. With shaking hands, Jon tries to remove Tormund’s shirt, but only succeeds to slip them under the shirt. Tormund feels so warm under his hands, as he moves them across his skin, catching in his soft chest hair as he braces against him. 

Tormund pulls away from him for a second, removes his shirt over his head with one fluid motion, his other arm never once leaving Jon’s lower back.  
For a moment, Jon drinks in his sight, ginger hair somehow reflecting in the warm firelight, shadows catching in the curves of his muscles. His breath nearly catches in awe. How did he ever deserve this?

“You deserve all of this, wolf” Tormund’s answers hoarsely. It seems like he has voiced his thoughts out loud. 

His eyes snap back up to Tormund’s blue ones. Holding his gaze for a few seconds, Tormund’s gaze drops down and musters him. Not with hunger, no. This is pure adoration.  
Carefully, Tormund takes Jon’s arms and wraps them around his waist as he steps closer again, lifting his own to slowly unlace the top of Jon’s shirt. It’s a remnant of his days below the wall, one of the only clothing items he has kept, apart from the cloak Sansa made him. 

He leans up, craning his neck to leave soft kisses against the Ginger’s lips, groaning as Tormund grinds slowly between his legs.  
Tormund arrives at the bottom and then pulls him close, working his hands under the shirt and carefully lifts. Jon raises his arms above his head and drops them on Tormund shoulder as the shirt is dropped down on the floor. 

Gently, almost featherlike, his husband draws his hands up his side, gliding over his scars, the ones made by Ygritte’s arrows, the ones from the mutineers, the ones that killed him, then over his nipples and up his throat and neck, and over the scars in his face, Hardhome, around his right eye, and Orell’s Eagle, down over his left eye. 

Tormund cups his jaw and pulls him into a kiss again, thumbs stroking over his cheeks while Jon shivers against him. 

“Gon’ take you apart, little crow- ah- been doing so well, working for the clan, for our clan- “

Tormund whispers against his lips, works broken apart by their kisses and Jon can’t help but keen at the praise. 

“Please- “

“What do you need? ‘M gonna give you everything, darling, everything, you’re mine now, my husband- gonna please you-“

“Yes- “

“Jon- “

“Bed- please, Tormund- “

Tormund complies. Nearly as if in reflex, Jon wraps his legs around Tormund’s middle as the chief hauls him up carefully into his arms, strong hands grasping this just under his bottom, never breaking their kiss. 

As if he weighed a feather, Tormund slowly and surely moves across the room, taking his sweet time. His husband knows him so well. Jon never knew that being carried could feel so good, but he trusts his husband with everything. Tormund has him safe and secure in his arms, and would, could, never drop him if his life depended on it. 

That, and of course being able to feel the hard muscles in Tormund’s arms that support his thighs, and the burly chest he’s bracing against. Not entirely chiselled, there is still some softness there, but underneath there is pure strength. Without, his husband would not be chief.

Out of breath, Jon has to pull away from the kiss and leans his forehead against Tormund’s. Standing in front of the bed, Tormund stops, and Jon looks up in askance.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just, Look.” He turns them around, for Jon to see the form of their giant direwolf passed out on the bed. 

A moment passes, and they share a look. Jon starts giggling first, Tormund joining with a deep belly laugh. 

“Blasted dog. The floor it is” Tormund hoists Jon up some more, holding him up onehanded while grabbing the small, well-used container of seal grease next to the bed. 

A few moments later, Tormund kneels down on the thick set of furs in front of the hearth, never once dropping Jon, settling him in his lap.  
Jon feels incredibly small, bracketed in Tormund’s arms, and a bit dizzy. He can’t stop grinding down, feeling his husband hard against him, moaning at the maximised surface where they now touch skin to skin. The chief lets him, wrapping him in his arms and kissing him deeply, rutting up against him.

“Baby-, what do you need?” 

“You- please Tormund-”

Tormund unlaces his trousers, and soon he is completely bare in his lap, searching the friction of the ginger’s trousers against his erection.  
Tormund grabs his ass, just holding on for a while, making Jon keen against him as he caresses and strokes his cheeks.

“Okay?” he asks, searching Jon’s eyes.

“Yes” Jon breathes consent at Tormund’s lips, and the man releases his bum and searches for the oil. 

In this position Jon can barely move, straddling his husband means his ass is very much exposed, giving Tormund easy access as he moves a hand between, circling his hole with a finger. Tormund moves his legs, effectively trapping Jon’s calves so he can’t push his legs back together, and Jon moans helplessly against the chief’s lips. 

“Shhh, I got you now, if it hurts, tell me, if you wanna stop, say “stop” or ‘Winterfell’, and if I ask you your colours, what do you say?”

“Green for good, like- ah-, nature.”

“Good boy- go on.”

“blue not sure, red for bad-, God's, Tormund please” Jon rambles, nearly feverishly. 

“Shhhh, darling, ‘I've got you, you’re doing so well love.”

Tormund moves his finger slowly, careful not to hurt the younger man. Teasing, up and down his hole, drawing circles and stretching his rim, making him slick.  
Jon can’t hold up his head anymore and drops against Tormund’s neck, nearly delirious with want. 

His leg’s shake and he keens as Tormund finally slides in a finger, and it’s so much already, and Jon wonders once again if Tormund was really nursed by a giant because his fingers are thick, much thicker than his and longer, but then everything about Tormund is and-

Oh. White Pleasure explodes behind his eyes, fills him with warmth and he bucks as Tormund finds the little nub inside him and rubs-  
He could come like this. In his husband’s lap, spread apart and not being able to move while Tormund just rubs against the spot inside him, his erection dragging against the fabric of Tormund’s trousers, the whispers against his ear. 

“You like that, baby? You’re doing so well, look so good on my lap-, Jon-“

Jon sobs as Tormund increases the pressure and starts rubbing circles around the spot inside him. 

Tormund moves his other hand to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer and squeezes, just how he likes it, fingers brushing the nape of his neck.

“You feel so good, Jon, doing so well for me, ‘know you can come like this- “

“Tor- “Jon pants, breathless, feeling the pressure build up more and more, the blood rushing into his groin. He arches into Tormund, seeking the friction and suddenly he can’t even produce any noise anymore, it’s too much-

“Come on, baby, you can do it, I know you want to” Tormund coaxes, and Jon feels lightheaded as the white-hot pleasure overwhelms him, climaxing on his stomach, still untouched. 

Tormund keeps going, mumbling praise into his ear. 

“God’s, Jon, you should see yourself, absolutely stunning like this, I love you-“

Jon whimpers helplessly, twitching as Tormund moves over his spot once again. His husband doesn’t stop, now actually stretching while Jon is still blissed out and relaxed from his orgasm. He slips in another finger quite easily, and Jon relished the stretch, already feeling himself stiffen again.  
Tormund knows it too, moving his hand between them to appreciatively caress him, just one finger, and it's gone so quickly Jon wonders if he was actually touched. He’s too far in, too deep, and everything is hazy, but Tormund’s there and he loves Jon, and he feels safe. 

"Beautiful"

He lifts his head, searching for a kiss. Tormund looks at him so pleased, a shudder goes down his back. He loves receiving Tormund’s praise.  
The kiss is sweet and soft, and Tormund relaxes his legs so Jon can move, and pulls him closer, all with his hand still half in his bum, to then lean back and to the side, so that he is tugged half under his husband. 

Tormund pulls Jon’s leg over his hip, still carefully stretching and fingering his hole.  
It’s almost too much like this, and Jon can’t stop twitching, but God’s does it feel good. Large, thick fingers inside him and Tormund’s mouth on his, if he could choose any way to spend the rest of his days, it would be this. 

Tormund pulls away from his lips, and puts his other arm underneath his head, supporting him, and tangles his hand into his hair. 

“Colour?”

“Green, so green.” 

The chief smiles at him in what could only be described as adoration, then tug’s at his hair, effectively exposing Jon’s throat, making him moan in response. He grasps for some more oil and then starts fucking his fingers into him. At the same time, he puts his mouth to his throat, leaving kisses and then- 

He has to arch against his husband, who is now sucking at the skin just below his jaw, close to his ear and it’s the exact right spot, leaving a mark that surely everyone will see when they’ll leave their cabin.

“Ready to come again for me, little crow?” Tormund asks huskily in his throat.

“Nghhh- not without you” Jon manages to answer and tries to find his hand into Tormund’s breeches. 

“Ah ah ah ah” comes the reply and the hand grasping his hair flies to stop Jon’s feeble attempt at getting to his husbands’ cock, which is still straining against the fabric of his pants.

“Patience, Jon, I wanna be inside you when I come, and before I do that, you’re gonna come on my fingers again,” Tormund smirks at him. He can’t do anything but moan when Tormund increases the speed of his fingers assaulting his spot. 

“Do you promise you’ll leave your hand right where it is?” the chief implores, making Jon look at him. 

He can barely keep his eyes open now, Tormund’s unrelenting hand moving deep between his cheeks and his firm grip on his wrist drive him insane with want and he struggles hard to answer, but Tormund touches the little nub inside him, and everything falls away, leaving him moaning helplessly. 

“Darlin, an answer?” 

Jon only has enough breath for a pathetic sounding, breathless mewl, and instead puts his entire strength into trying to gain control over his shivering leg and moves it up further, trying to give his husband more access. 

“Oh fuck- baby- “Tormund takes this for an answer and pulls Jon’s hand behind his own head, where his other hand is already trapped underneath, and Jon immediately grabs at the ginger hair, needing something to hold onto-

The chief, now one hand free, grabs his leg and tugs it up and uses his elbow to keep it in place. 

Once again, Jon can’t move, and he hates how Tormund knows this, knows that it turns him on so much to yield his control to his husband, to let him be in control of his pleasure, to finally let go of everything and just be.

His head goes slightly foggy and muddled and empty, and he just let’s go, and it’s worth it because he feels the pressure building up and increasing and the heat is almost too much. 

His second climax is much more intense, he can’t help but scream as it rips through him. He’s barely aware of how hard he is grasping his husband’s hair, hands fisted in the ginger locks, hips rolling uncontrollably against the other’s crotch, the rushing in his ear’s drowning out everything. 

Tormund is kissing his face, and making soothing noises at him, while the aftershocks are ripping through him. 

“Shshhshhh, I’ve got you” Tormund smiles at him and moves his hand to remove sweaty black curls from his forehead. Jon feels incredible, out of breath, and grins back at him tiredly, slowly gaining strength to release his death grip on the ginger curls. 

Tormund groans at that, bucking into him. 

“Fuck, Wolf, you’re so goddamn fucking hot like this- “

Jon makes sure to remember this, the way Tormund shivered against him when he had tugged at his hair, that would be something worth exploring at a later time. 

Slowly, Tormund pulls out his fingers, three now, he didn’t even notice that and rolls them around onto Jon’s back.

Pulling at the furs, Tormund produces a rag and cleans them both off, then wrapping them in the pelts. 

“Look at you, already so pliant for me,” Tormund mumbles into his hair. 

Jon hums, relishing in the attention, voice hoarse already. 

“Are you still up for me, baby? You look positively wrung out.” 

“No, want your cock please.” 

Tormund laughs. 

“So polite, am gonna have to fuck you some more, eh?” 

“Fuck you.” 

“That’s more like it, huh?” 

They both fall into laughter at that. 

Jon feels like jelly, pliant and warm, his dick softened, but he still yearns for his husband to be inside him, and the thought of it makes him twitch with new interest.  
“Really though, if you’re tired love, I can just jerk off, it's fine.” Tormund looks at him earnestly and so, so kind and loving Jon wants to cry. 

“I am-, but I want you inside, wanna feel your cock Tormund, you promised!” he tries to not sound pouty but fails spectacularly, he notes when he sees his husband smirk with satisfaction. 

“And you did so well for me, little wolf, how do you want me?” 

“Like this, want you to be on top.” 

“Predictable,” Tormund laughs, but strokes down his inner thighs, until he arrives at the point just underneath his bum and pushes Jon’s legs apart, spreading him out and holding them down just underneath the hollows of his knees. 

“You just love being spread out, like this, huh? And being dwarfed by me, it makes you feel small.”

“Yes,” Jon hisses, relishing in the feeling, “makes me feel loved, and safe underneath you, love you on top of me Tormund, I love you- please-“

Tormund grabs their tin once again, slicking up his fingers. Carefully, wasting no time, he slides them back inside of him, and Jon has to groan at the feeling. He feels so full, and the stretch is still there, but no pain whatsoever. 

Tormund always stretches him so well, “your cock shouldn’t go near until they’re as slick as a baby seal” he remembers the advice his husband gave him back in time when he knew nothing. 

Thinking about the fact that Tormund is a few years older, and also quite a few years more experienced than him never fails to send a shiver down his spine in anticipation.  
While he’s still quite inexperienced, he always tries to make up for the lack with enthusiasm, and Tormund never, never seems to mind. He even relishes it sometimes, and Jon never feels inadequate or to green. Tormund would never let him, he thinks. 

Sometimes, Jon feels like he’s too patient, too protective, loving for him to ever deserve it. The heavy feeling of Tormund’s fingers in his bum is overwhelming, his man thorough in his preparations to avoid any pain at all. 

Impatient, Jon wiggles a bit, testing the hold on his legs.

“Tormund-“he whines, “I’m ready, stop teasingmnnnnnnnnhggg.”

The chief assaults his spot, and Jon sees stars. His cock is now full and swollen, and he’s so ready it nearly hurts, Jon almost wants to start begging to be fucked. 

“Never enough preparation, don’t wanna have you hurt, darlin'” Tormund rumbles into his ear, and then kisses him deeply.  
“Wanna take care of you, love.” 

“You are, please fuck me Tormund-“

Taking matters into his own hands, Jon kisses Tormund again, and unseen by his husband, sneaks a hand down and wraps it around his swollen cock. He didn’t even notice his husband took off his pants, but he’s not complaining, he has free access to his cock now. He feels big, so big in his hands. Tormund whimpers at the touch, and Jon can’t help but smirk into the kiss. 

They separate, and Jon catches Tormund’s eyes as his husband leans his forehead against his and moans shakily as Jon caresses his cock.

“Please?” Jon whispers, his eyes never leaving Tormund’s’ blue ones.

He just nods, and Jon directs his cock close until he’s sliding in, slowly and carefully. Tormund groans loudly, letting all of the energy out through his voice, and squeezes his eyes shut. Jon knows it’s so he doesn’t snap his hips, trying to control the speed to not hurt him, because his cock is so big.

Jon can’t do anything, all air punched out, so it’s just one strangled, small exhale, and he holds his breath. Tormund releases one of his legs to grab his hand, squeezing hard. 

It feels so good, and he hasn’t even bottomed out, still sinking down steadily. The stretch is still there, not even three fingers enough to offset the effects. When he had seen Tormund’s cock for the first time, hard and swollen and veiny, he was convinced it would never fit inside him, but it did.

And then, he bottoms out, and Jon is overwhelmed with the feeling of fullness and the stretch, Tormund’s cock so heavy inside him, he pulls in a sharp breath, trying to regulate his emotions with breathing but he doesn’t quite succeed. 

“Good boy,” Tormund pants, “M’ not gonna move till you tell me, darlin’, you’re so tight-“

He’ll never get used to this, the feeling so familiar but new every time, the fullness, the stretch- the feeling of Tormund’s hips pressed into him so close- it’s not enough-

“Move” he gasps, and Tormund kisses him.

He starts slowly, just grinding, then more shallow thrusts and Jon is already wrecked, leaking once again, a litany of moans and whimpers and whines he can’t stop from leaving his throat-

Tormund pushes himself up, kneeling now to get a better angle, ginger waves around his face and eyes closed. His. All his. He looks god-like like this. 

“Ah, Jon- “he moans, and by the god’s he loves it when his husband is loud, “You can feel every inch of me inside you like this, can’t you? You want more, wolf?”

“Ah- fuck yes please, Tormund-“ 

“Hold your legs” the command comes, and Jon grabs his own legs, the moment Tormund releases his leg and hand. 

One hand comes to his chest, holding him down, the other against his hip, steadying and pulling him in, and the angle changes- 

Light-headedness takes over again as Tormund hits his spot, again and again, increasing his speed as he notices the angle is just right. Jon loses his voice, looking up at his husband open-mouthed but soundless.

Suddenly there’s a hand on his cock, stroking him, just right, slow, steady, squeezing and caressing, a thumb swirling on his head.

Jon arches into it, and for the third time this evening, he loses himself to the white-hot pressure, loses himself in his head, blankness taking over.  
He lets it, knowing he’s safe, safe with Tormund, his husband-

As if from far away, he’s aware of the sounds that still leave his throat, but unwilling to do anything, he’s limp, boneless in his man’s arms, spread impossibly wide open- 

The pressure start’s over, wandering down his spine and into his groin, and Tormund is relentless deep rhythmic trusts, and he can’t believe it, but it is happening again, he’s so close-

“Come, Jon, now. I know you can” Tormund fondles his balls, squeezing lightly, forcing him over the peak.

He shakes apart again, dry orgasm wrecking his body and he wants to cry, but it’s so good.

Tormund starts moving faster, now chasing his own pleasure, and soon he’s close too. Jon always knows. His thrusts start becoming more erratic, and deeper, more grinding than fucking, and Jon trembles at the feeling. 

With a shout, he starts to come, and Jon convulses around his cock, shivering at the sudden feeling of hot wetness exploding deep inside his belly. Overwhelmed with the feeling, he doesn’t know whether to thrust back or pull away, but Tormund doesn’t give him an option, holding his hips down with his strong hands while he’s still coming, his thick, swollen cock twitching deep inside of him. 

Pulling him into a deep kiss, Tormund’s legs give out, and they collapse into a heap onto the furs. 

Jon feels fuzzy and sweaty and happy, and just lets himself be nuzzled while he basks in the feeling, unwilling to move or think or do anything at all but lie in his husbands’ arms.

He’s barely aware of Tormund whispering things into his ear, and then the sensations of a dry cloth wiping over his skin, his face, down his neck and body to where they’re still joined. 

It’s soothing, and Jon relishes in the sensations, letting his consciousness slowly return. 

He blinks up at his chief, his husband, his Tormund, his man who made him feel safe and secure, loved and wanted when all he had known for years was fear, anger, anxiety and depression.

“Hi” Tormund has his hands around his face, and their noses are nearly touching. Tormund’s smile is blinding.

“Hi” Jon tries, but it comes out all croaky and shaky, and Tormund’s smile becomes even bigger, he didn’t think that was possible. But it’s oh so infecting, he smiles back so widely, his cheeks nearly hurt. 

“You back with me, love?” 

“Uh-huh,” Jon nods.

“You went away in your head there for a bit, that good?”

“Yes” Jon hates how small his voice sounds, but Tormund doesn’t seem to mind.

“I’m glad.”

They lie like this for a while, Tormund having rolled them around a bit, so he doesn’t squish Jon. 

Finally, Tormund moves to pull out, both groaning at the feeling. 

“You alright?” Tormund moves to inspect him for any injuries, humming in satisfaction when he finds none and proceeds to clean him with a wet rag.  
Jon hisses as the cool cloth touches his skin, wincing a bit. 

“Just sore.” 

“Good. Don’t need to walk for me during this storm. Can just keep you here, like this, for a couple of days and no one would notice.” 

“Well, nobody’s stopping you, least of all me” Jon replies, already loving the prospect, just being along with his husband for a few days while the storm rages. 

“Needy” Tormund laughs. 

“Aye,” Jon responds dryly. 

“I love you.”

“I know.” 

Clean and dry, Tormund settles them on the furs, switching to the ones not sweaty from their fucking. Lying in his arms, Jon nuzzles at Tormund’s chest, glorious ginger curls reaching down from his chest to his groin, and he feels so warm.

“I could stay like this forever, you know” he whispers.

“Me too.” Tormund replies,” I would have never thought this would be real if you told me years ago when we first met” 

“It’s real.” 

“Aye. I’m glad it is.”

Settling into a comfortable silence, Jon swirling through his husband’s chest hair, Tormund drawing tiny circles on Jon’s back, making him giggle a bit. 

“That tickles.”

Tormund just hums at him. 

Jon buries his head in Tormund’s chest, listening to the storm. It’s proper loud now, howling, the wind sweeping through their valley and down the river. He swears he can hear waves now, but through the loud pattering of snow and hail, he can’t really be sure. He is glad he’s inside and warm and safe. 

“Jon?” Tormund’s voice pulls him from his musing. 

“mhh?” 

“There’s another tradition, but it’s quite old, and I’m not sure Ulelda knows.”

Ulelda was their village elder, a wise woman with white, long hair, who took over a similar role to a Maester, concerned with the health of their people. But there was also something other about her, something wild, ominous. Jon liked her. She taught him a few things, always patient, but sometimes a bit rough. 

“What is it?” 

“And even if she knows, I don’t know if you’d want to.” 

“If you don’t ask, you won’t know” Jon hums. 

“We’re married, after the old ways, right?” Tormund explains, and he sounds so nervous, “there’s another tradition, I know my father’s parents had it done.”

Jon looks up in askance, searching Tormunds eyes. 

“What is it?” 

“It’s a special type of metal, shaped by your spouse that gets somehow charmed, and you get it pierced. Usually somewhere where people can see it. It used to be the highest form of a tie you can make, and, it just shows you belong to each other.”

“Oh” 

Tormund is blushing, he realises then, the flickering lights of the hearth making it hard to make out details, but he is. 

“Tormund-“

“I want this. With you I mean- I don’t think I’ll ever tire of you, and I’ve known you for years, Jon. You’re it.” 

The words start rushing out of his husbands’ mouth, and he can just stare in awe. It feels holy, even more so than when they’d talked about marriage, and Jon knows that this is important, so important and he feels so honoured.

“Jon I- I want to make you mine, in all the senses possible because otherwise my heart my burst-“ 

“Yes” Jon kisses him, “I feel the same” 

“Really?” 

“We can ask Ulelda when the Storm is over. If she doesn’t know about the magic, we could still just do the metals, right?” 

“Aye,” Tormund looks beyond relieved. 

They fall back to silence after that. Somewhere in the room, Jon can hear Ghost snore, the fire still crackles, and he feels sore but happy. This is where he belongs.  
With his chief, his clan, his wolf, inside his little cabin lying down next to the fireplace, basking in the heat that dances across his naked back.

Tormund’s chest hair tickles at his face, the giant man’s breathing lulling him in, his heartbeat steady in his ear. 

Sleepily, Jon asks the question that’s been flying around in his head the entire evening. 

“Say, love. That story about you being nursed by a giant, is that true?”

Tormund laughs his deep belly laugh, and Jon feels like this is the most content he’s ever been. 

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> And this marks my last work for the decade! 
> 
> I'd love for you to leave a comment, don't be shy! (or smash that ♥)


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